


call me up just to break me like a promise

by hugemarvelfan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BAMF Alec Lightwood, BAMF Clary Fray, BAMF Isabelle Lightwood, BAMF Jace Wayland, BAMF Magnus Bane, BAMF Stiles, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Dead Claudia Stilinski, Depressed Stiles Stilinski, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shadowhunter! Stiles, Slow Burn, Stiles Stilinski Has ADHD, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Stiles Stilinski is Pushed Out of the Pack, Suicidal Thoughts, Texting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27396406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hugemarvelfan/pseuds/hugemarvelfan
Summary: During the aftermath of the Nogitsune, Stiles is suffering alone. Scott won't even look at him, Derek leaves town, and his Dad pours all his hours into work. When the Sheriff finds Stiles sobbing in his room late at night, he convinces Stiles to go to New York to live with Claudia's sister to heal and get away from Beacon Hills for a bit.So imagine Stiles' surprise when he discovers that not only are his aunt and cousin involved in the supernatural, but he is also somewhat supernatural, not that he knows what a Shadowhunter is, but if the description is as cool as the name, he's intrigued.What happens after a year when his dad is involved in an accident and he has to return to Beacon Hills and face his so-called friends who had abandoned him?--           --          --"So you're telling me that my mom was a demon hunter --""Yep.""And that it is in my blood to become a demon hunter and protect both humans and supernatural creatures from evil?""Uh huh.""Sick!"
Relationships: Alec Lightwood & Isabelle Lightwood & Stiles Stilinski, Clary Fray & Stiles Stilinski, Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski, Magnus Bane & Stiles Stilinski, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Jace Wayland
Comments: 10
Kudos: 91





	call me up just to break me like a promise

**Author's Note:**

> The Mortal Instruments part is loosely based on the books.

Stiles didn't know how long he had locked himself in the bathroom. The second he closed the door behind him and heard the small _click_ of lock, time seemed to blend. The oncoming panic attack hadn't surprised him, and he tried not to think about how sad it was that he was in a constant state of panic. Stiles brought his trembling hands to his face as he tried to fight for a breath that he knew wasn't coming.

It was all his fault. He knew that. Stiles shouldn't have opened his backpack, attempting to do the various amounts of assignments he had fell behind on when he had clutched an English textbook, one that had once belonged to Allison Argent. He had lost his weeks ago and Allison had generously allowed him to borrow her own. She was never going to get it back.

Stiles' chest heaved as he tried to bring air into his lungs. Tears welled in his eyes as the sense of danger had increased all around him. _The Nogitsune never left, did it? I'm still a monster_. His arms felt as if they were being held down by weights, but he powered through the sensation as he tried counting his fingers. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. 

_Five_. The Nogitsune was gone. Stiles forced himself to slow down. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. 

Slowly, he caught air in his lungs and his breathing evened. Inhale. Exhale. His hands stopped shaking. Inhale. Exhale. He picked himself off the dirty bathroom floor and went to unlock the door. Inhale. Exhale. 

When he went back into his room, the sight of the textbook caused the breath to leave his chest once again.

* * *

Sheriff Noah Stilinski drudged up the stairs, exhausted by the double shift he had just finished. The insidious town of Beacon Hills was once again back on its bullshit with more murder cases. The Sheriff sighs as he goes into his room, stripped off his uniform in exchange for pajamas, and almost flops onto his bed, tired out of his mind. He was too drained to fight the selfish thoughts about skipping the next day and resting, but he knew that he was needed. He wasn't the Sheriff for nothing. 

A muffled sob stopped him from immediately falling asleep. Although begrudgingly, the Sheriff sat up and listened. Silence. Shrugging it off as a creak from the wind, he turned over in his bed when he heard it again.

At first he was too tuckered out to place the sound, but he knew what was going on the second time he heard it. Stiles. Noah raced out of bed and into his son's room. The room was messy, bedsheets thrown across the bed haphazardly, piles of dirty laundry littered the floor, and the blinds were shut, concealing the room from the minimal amounts of moonlight outside. However, his son wasn't currently occupying the room. He was about to panic when he noticed the sounds of crying coming from the closed bathroom door. His heart heavy in his chest, Noah knocked on the door.

"Stiles? Son?" Stiles only seemed to sob harder.

"Stiles! Please open the door," the Sheriff all but begged. He knew that Stiles was not handling the aftermath of the Nogitsune well, but he didn't think it was this bad. He began to regret taking more shifts instead of staying home with his son when he heard the telltale _click_ of door being unlocked. When the door opened, it took all of Noah's willpower to not gasp.

For a lack of a better word, Stiles looked terrible. His honey-brown eyes were swollen and red, puffy from the extensive amounts of tears that were occupying his flushed cheeks. His hair was tousled and splayed out in multiple directions as if Stiles had been pulling it. 

"Oh, Stiles." The Sheriff pulled his son into a deep hug, ignoring the way that his son had flinched at the contact. Stiles began to shake as he clutched his father as if he was going to be ripped from him if he let go. The Sheriff led Stiles to his bed, helping him in as if Stiles was nine again and had just lost his mother. Stiles had jerked slightly when he felt his head touch his pillow, but Noah slipped into the small bed next to him, wrapping his arms around his son. He didn't dare let go until he felt Stiles calm slightly and fade into a restless sleep.

Damn work. He was going to take the next day off and make sure Stiles was okay. Noah looked at the sleeping form of his only son. The one who deserves too much and gets too little. He'd be damned if he ever let anything happen to Stiles ever again. 

* * *

When Stiles woke up to a warm body pressed against him, he forced his heart to stop racing before he made any rash decisions. He inhaled slowly, calming his beating chest before he remembered his dad finding him last night. This time, he couldn't stave away the panic attack. He rarely could these days. 

Fortunately, the Sheriff seemed to feel Stiles' rising discomfort as he shifted in his sleep and opened his eyes. "How are you feeling, Stiles? Really." Stiles opened his mouth to lie and say " _I'm fine, Dad. Don't worry."_ when his dad raised an eyebrow, sensing Stiles' fib. Stiles lowered his gaze.

"Honestly, not great, Dad," he answered quietly, but truthfully.

The Sheriff's mouth settled into a grim line, and before Stiles could backtrack, cover up his emotions once again, Noah pulled his son into a deep hug, clutching Stiles as if Stiles was all he had left. Then Stiles remembered that he was all that his dad had left. 

"Stiles, son." He looked up into his dad's eyes. "Don't ever think that I don't care about how you're feeling. Alright? Your feelings are valid. You got that?" The Sheriff's piercing eyes looked straight into Stiles' heart. Stiles gave a weak shrug and slumped back into bed, tired. He knew his dad was in his corner, ok. He knew. But all the shit going through his head, the fact that he can't tell what was real and what was fake without counting his _fucking_ fingers, how abandoned he felt, how guilty he feels, _is_ , because of what he did to Allison. No amount of support will ever make that okay.

And Stiles doesn't even want it to be okay. He deserves this pain, this guilt. This is his penance and he must bear it.

* * *

Stiles wakes up again around noon, his bed empty without his father occupying the space next to him. He would have been concerned about the fact that he didn't remember falling back asleep if he hadn't been constantly exhausted. She shifted in his warm covers, hands gripping his pillow as he tried to block out the sunlight filtering in through the window. His dad must have opened the shades. 

At the thought of his father, Stiles shot up and thought about what he had said the previous night. He felt the empty spaces next to him soberly. Of course his dad went to work. Of _fucking_ course. Stiles and his fucking bullshit had obviously irked his father. His dad had much better things to worry about than his stupid son, and his stupid nightmares, and his stupid fucking panic attacks. Stiles wasn't special. _I'm nearly an adult_ , he thought bitterly. _Dad doesn't need any added stress that I can't handle myself._

He pushed away the thought that he probably couldn't handle himself.

He clambered out of bed bitterly, cursing the world when his hip hit the corner of his desk when he went to shut the blinds. Damn sun. Damn room. Damn werewolves. Damn demons. Damn everything.

He stomped down the stairs, suddenly apoplectic. Why did everything happen to him? Was he such a bad person that no one need him? Hell, wanted him? He worried at his bottom lip and he clenched his fists, aware that as soon as he let go of his fury, he would start sobbing. And he's done enough of that to last a lifetime. 

He stopped in his tracks when he heard someone on the phone in the kitchen. He quietly slid into the kitchen, watching his father, still clad in his worn pajamas, confer with someone on the phone. There was a furrow in his dark brows as the other person on the line talked. Slowly, his forehead smoothened and he grinned. "Great! Thank you Jocelyn, really. I'll let you know."

 _Jocelyn? Was Dad talking to Aunt Jocelyn?_ thought Stiles as he straddled the wooden kitchen chair, gripping the abandoned lukewarm cup of coffee. He may have finally spent a night without nightmares but he wasn't taking any chances. He would rather lock himself back in the bathroom than face the day without any caffeine. His dad was still on the phone, evidently _Aunt?_ Jocelyn was regaling him with stories if his father's grin had anything to do with it. 

Stiles liked his aunt, and his cousin even more. Jocelyn and her daughter Clary had lived in New York the entirety of their lives, even when Jocelyn had gotten engaged to Luke, whom Stiles also liked. Granted, he wasn't the closest with Aunt Jocelyn and Luke, but he and Clary used to be two peas in a pod, as Stiles often reminded her of her best friend. They had only met in person twice, once as children, and the last at his mother's funeral, but they often kept in contact online. Jocelyn hated traveling and Clary never had the opportunity to visit Beacon Hills. Stiles suffered the same dilemma regarding New York.

However, Clary had recently just turned 18, and Stiles was not far behind. He absolutely adored the hours-long FaceTime calls with Clary, but he wished it was possible to see her more often.

Stiles sees his dad say "goodbye" to Jocelyn, and then hang up the phone. Stiles took another sip of the bitter coffee, waiting for his dad to speak. His stomach grumbled, but he ignored it. 

"Morning, Son," said the Sheriff as he sat down across from Stiles, hand folded on the table. His face was serious, unaware of his son's pounding heart. "We need to talk."

"Oh, uh, okay." Stiles tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible. Maybe he was overthinking things. Maybe this wasn't anything serious.

"Do you want to leave Beacon Hills?"

* * *

"What?" 

"Not permanently. Just for the rest of the school year."

Stiles fought the urge to cry. "So you want me out of the house? Is that it?"

"What? No!"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, just be honest. Your want me gone."

The Sheriff got up from the chair and enveloped Stiles in a hug, despite his protests. "Stiles, look at me." His son looked at him, eyes rimmed red. "This town is killing you. Look, I just got off the phone with your Aunt Jocelyn. If _you_ want to, you can spend the summer in New York, living with her, Clary, and Luke. But only if you want to."

Stiles thought about it for a minute. Would it be so bad? Scott was barely talking to him anymore, eyes looking at anything except his best friend. Allison was dead. Allison was dead _because_ of him. Derek fucked out of town, once again. Lydia was back to ignoring him. Stiles was alone. And he missed Clary. He did. 

"You know what, Dad. I do want to go."


End file.
